[Updated: rewritten, changes in dialogue]
Sam Miller - Apocalyptic Skies: Chapter 1, Winds Howling
The darkness wind and chill
all point to the end times,
where green grass will never return
and the sun will never again
show its bright face.
Nights like this
are a spiritual experience.
The air speaks to me
in ways the sunlight never can.
I feel the apocalypse every time it storms.
It would have been an understatement to say Geralt had been surprised when Yennefer agreed to leave on the day Philippa had…recommended, without a moment's hesitation. Especially when one considered the fact that, by doing so, the couple would arrive at least a week before the Wild Hunt gathering commenced. He tried not to trouble himself with questions as to why she had agreed, but the suggestion that Yennefer had taken Philippa's threat to heart did cross his mind regardless. He was sure, without a doubt, that the Sorceress would have eyes on them at Corvo Bianco to ensure they departed at the time she wished. Her strongly worded letter, for lack of a better turn of phrase, made it evident that any act of disobedience - despite how trivial it might seem - would be met with severe and disproportionate consequences.
Geralt of Rivia should, of course, have known better. He blamed Toussaint's unholy optimism.
After several days of travel, the glare of the sun and its heat lessening with each mile they made, Yennefer suggested a brief detour to Vizima. It was, after all, en route, and they had a handful of days to spare. Besides, the Witcher longed to see what had become of the city, now that Emhry Var Emries had restored the former land of Temeria. A desire that Yennefer, of course, knew and mercilessly used against him.
They spent the good part of a day idly wandering around the city, which was still undergoing renovation and restoration. The streets bustled, and the markets flowed with goods. They enjoyed the taste of Northern food and missed the taste of Southern wine.
The next day, Geralt packed his bags, ready to get back on track. However, the sudden, though pleasant, appearance of Dandelion, Zoltan and Priscilla, meant that he was going nowhere.
The Bards happily announced that they had travelled to Vizima on the Sorceress' behest. She had promised them some time spent in the city with Geralt and her before, as a group, they travelled to the Isle of Thanedd. Yennefer hastened to point out that not only had Zoltan been witness to the Wild Hunt spectres, during the battle of Kaer Morhen, but that Dandelion had been as well during their first encounter not far from Gors Velen. She insisted that Philippa had, after all, requested 'any and all' witnesses. Geralt noted, however, that she failed to account for the 'reliable' part.
They spent a few days and nights by Vizima's beautiful lake, and Yennefer took some time to help heal Priscilla's voice. The number of days leading towards the gathering slowly diminished, Geralt became increasingly agitated. He kept an eye peeled to the sky and cursed the fact that Yennefer, whenever Philippa was involved, always had to rock the boat.
"Stop fretting so much Geralt, please. It doesn't suit you," Yennefer reprimanded. The Witcher looked up from the task which had been preoccupying him for the evening, his newly polished silver sword gleaming almost as brightly as the diamonds on the Sorceress' star. Yennefer was looking at him over the rim of her book with a mixture of reproach and amusement. She was lying, legs outstretched, on the bed with her black silk nightgown hitched up revealing enough pale skin to send a pleasant shiver down his spine. Geralt's grip on the blade tightened slightly and Yennefer smiled slyly. "Besides, you're sure to blind yourself with that sword if you do, and that would be a shame."
Geralt smiled, but only briefly. "We should leave tomorrow, Yen," he suggested, trying to sound casual. He could feel her piercing violet eyes on the back of his head as he sheathed his sword and placed it on his lap.
When there was no immediate reply, Geralt tensed, bracing himself. When she finally answered, what felt like hours later, he could only partly release his breath. "You have nothing to fear from Philippa," claimed the Sorceress. Geralt cursed, he should have guarded his thoughts more closely. He'd gotten too used to Yennefer reading his mind. In moments of bliss, he'd learnt to enjoy this intimate connection, a way to share his heart in a way like no other, and there had been so many of those days. The Witcher's barriers had fallen and he was projecting feelings he didn't want to burden her with. "I've yet to see anything come of her threats, despite how numerous they are. Besides, they weren't aimed at you, Geralt."
And that's part of the problem, Geralt thought. He sighed, but as the topic was out in the open he took the risk of probing it further. "But this threat is more than just a personal vendetta, Yen. The Lodge-"
"Unlike Phillipa," she snapped, narrowing her eyes dangerously, "the rest of the Lodge isn't selective in their memory. I never owed them anything, Geralt, especially not obedience, yet it was I who won them amnesty. Should they dare try something against me, I will be sure to remind them of that fact."
Finality hinged itself to her words, and silence settled. Geralt, his back to Yennefer, focused on the world outside their door. He watched light and shadow prance on the stone tiles of their rented tavern room and tried to imagine exactly what was occurring on the other side of the door. His thoughts, however, did not wish to obey his command and instead wandered back towards the thin ice.
He heard an exasperated sigh. "Geralt, please, your brooding is making it exceptionally difficult for me to get even the remotest sense of pleasure from reading this shitty novel," she scolded, moving around on the bed. "Either set aside your worries or leave. We'll be there in time for their important meeting, but at the same time everyone else will arrive, rather than the ridiculous time they implied." There was a momentary pause. "Do you really think, Geralt, that the Lodge expected me to arrive early? If I walked through the gates of Gors Velen with my head bowed in submission, Philippa would likely die of a heart attack and the others would kill me on the spot thinking I was a doppler. Hence, there is no logical explanation for your fretting. So, cease."
The Witcher didn't say anything. He listened to the tavern's merriment as the hour grew late. The carefree voices of Zoltan and Dandelion in the next room called for more vodka and food. Despite Yennefer's warnings, he could not focus on anything else but his fears. He knew that Yennefer could look after herself, should anything truly happen, but he regretted the fact that she might have to. They'd finally found - made - peace, and he wanted it to last. Which is why, if it wasn't for Yennefer's sake, or for Ciri's, he'd be done with the Lodge. He was fed up with pissing into the wind, and wherever the Lodge of Sorceresses was, there was bound to be a storm.
He felt a pair of soft lips kiss the back of his neck. A warm body moulded against his back and a pair of arms snaked around his waist and chest. Yennefer pressed her face against his, her hair tumbling down his chest and her scent enveloping him. As strange as it was to imagine and as foolish as it sounded, Geralt felt the crushing weight of his worry begin to melt at her touch.
"From anyone else, I'd scorn such concern, but from you…never." He felt her small hand intertwine with his own, a perfect match. He smiled, and this time it didn't fade. "We'll leave tomorrow morning, I promise, Geralt. I shan't tempt your worry any longer, that would be cruel of me. Besides," she traced kisses up his neck and he closed his eyes, "the sooner we get to Thanedd, the sooner someone can fully restore Priscilla's voice. I long to hear the song which has so inspired you," she purred into his ear.
"It is a beautiful song, Yen, but pales in comparison to the real thing." Yennefer laughed softly at his awkward compliment, as she always did. Geralt tenderly kissed the back of her hand. "I love you, Yen."
"And I you," her free hand cupped his face, drawing it closer. "Just one more reason why we will reach Thanedd."
True to her word, they set out the next morning without a moment delay. Their ride to Gors Velen was an enjoyable one. The travellers were blessed with good weather and welcoming taverns and inns. At the sight of Dandelion's lute and the Sorceress' bulging coin purse, people were more than accommodating, though with some reluctance in the Witcher's case.
Not a single night was spent in bad company, or in the cold night air. Until they were but a day's ride from the portside city.
"Wind's howling," commented the Witcher, talking to no one in particular as he looked at the looming clouds in the distance. "There's no avoiding that storm."
"Are you sure?" asked Dandelion, a hand to his forehead, shielding his eyes from the sun.
Geralt shook his head. "We're too far forward to go back, and too far back to go forward."
"We might still be able to make it to the village we stayed at last night. I'd really rather not appear before the Lodge soaked to the bone."
"No, Dandelion," he repeated more forcefully, looking over his shoulder at the Bard. "We can't turn back, or we'll be late. Keep a look out for shelter."
"I still think-"
"No!"
Zoltan urged his horse forwards. "Thank you, Dandelion, for your contribution," he said gruffly, "but I agree with the Witcher. I imagine the Sorceresses will be more peeved off with lateness, as opposed to the smell of damp clothes." He looked at Yennefer for confirmation; she nodded. "So, we'd best concentrate on finding shelter rather than bickering. Besides," he chuckled, patting his horse, "we've had worse nights, Dandelion."
"I agree with them, Dandelion," said Priscilla.
Dandelion scoffed. "I'm still not convinced."
Geralt closed his eyes. He was beginning to get a headache. The Bard had an uncanny knack for inducing them. Beside him, he heard Yennefer chuckle under her breath. "Dandelion, if you don't stop yapping, I think Geralt is going to burst a vein," she quipped, without bothering to look at the man. She was preoccupied with straightening out a crinkle in her tight, short-sleeved white blouse. which reached just below the top of her black, leather riding trousers. She was also simultaneously distracting Geralt rather effectively. "Honestly, I'm not sure what the fuss is about, but, if it will get you to shut up - because I was so enjoying the peace - then I will dry your clothes with magic."
He went silent, a clear indication that he was considering her proposition. "Fine," he replied.
Geralt sighed with relief as he and Yennefer pushed ahead of the group. "Thanks. I'd really rather not have to argue with Dandelion right now." She inclined her head and the Witcher chuckled. "You're even better at coping with him now than I am. Funny how things turn out."
"Yes, well… Though it would bring me great satisfaction to use my magic on him in…other ways, I daresay you wouldn't approve of any of them, and I see no point in forcing you to stand in the crossfire, Geralt." He looked at her but didn't say anything; somehow, thanking her didn't seem quite right. "Don't look quite so surprised though, Geralt. My capacity for dealing with your dim-witted friend might have increased, but it is not boundless. I will be happy to remind him of that fact should the need arise."
Geralt chuckled and responded the only way he knew how. "I adore you, Yen."
As darkness began to descend and the clouds rumbled, Geralt spotted a large cave entrance at the foot of a hill. They huddled inside, securing their horses on various stalagmites. Before long, the wind was raging around them and the heavens opened. While the mouth of the cave was large and kept them safe from the wet, it offered no such protection from the blustering wind.
However, as luck would have it, about ten metres in, the cave began to narrow, and towards the back was a passageway. Conveniently, it appeared to lead further into the hill and underground. In hopes of finding a cavern for them to rest in, the group descended, Geralt scouting just up ahead and Yennefer leading the rest with her magic. Eventually, they caught up with him.
"I hear something," said the Witcher cautiously, holding his hand up for silence.
"Well, I suppose we'll have to take your word for it, Geralt," said Yennefer, folding her arms, a ball of light flickering beside her like an overgrown firefly.
"I'll go look. Stay here," he added, looking at the Sorceress.
Yennefer rolled her eyes. "Fine, but if I hear a kerfuffle, Witcher, I'm coming after you."
The winding path carried Geralt deeper underground, and with each step, the noise grew louder. Eventually, the passage ended, opening out into a ledge which overlooked a small cavern several metres below. Here, he found the origin of the disturbance.
A rock troll, six feet tall and equally as wide, was standing in the cavern. Though his back was to the Witcher, Geralt doubted that the monster would have noticed his presence even if he'd walked through a passage right beside him. At present, the bulking form was utterly absorbed in his activity, that of walloping the wall of the cavern with alternating great stone fists. To mix things up a bit, the Troll would also occasionally thump himself instead. It was a godawful racket.
Confident that no other monsters were lurking in the shadows, Geralt descended into the cavern, following a steep and jagged path cut into the cave wall. When the path ended, he dropped down the last foot or two before approaching the cave's other occupant.
"Greetings," said Geralt, standing just behind the Troll with his hands in plain sight. There was no response. "Greetings," he repeated.
The Troll turned around, and Geralt could see that his fists were bleeding. "You Witcherman Badman. You Bert swashykill come for," he grovelled, waving his arm and bobbing slightly.
"You're right, I am a Witcher, but I mean you no harm." He held up his hands in the universal gesture of surrender, but the Troll seemed only to get more agitated. He threw his head from side to side.
"Badman Witcherman. You wallopy smashhurt Bert." He jabbed a balled fist into his chest several times; it was like stone scraping against stone. "Bertymonster Witchie thing here kill. Bert careno." The Troll turned his back on Geralt and began banging his head against the stone. Geralt smelt blood.
"Maybe I can help, Bert. What's wrong?"
"Badmonster! Wooshie Slip, shiny stone, gone, gone. Die Bertymonster!" he wailed. He then picked up a rock and smashed it over his head. It cracked clean in two.
As the monster stepped back, Geralt got a closer look at the blood-stained wall. Except, it wasn't that. A boulder, now somewhat fractured, was blocking what appeared to be a passageway. The Witcher was at a loss, and the Troll had skulked away to find more rocks to smash over his head.
"Geralt, what on earth is he doing?" Yennefer was peering down at them from the overhanging ledge. He could see the others reluctantly gathered behind her. Without waiting for an answer, she started moving down to join him.
"Patient as ever."
"You were taking too long. Besides," she smiled mischievously at him, "I know you love that about me."
"Only when it doesn't end in trouble," he replied, offering her his hand to help her down. "Bert's 'shiny stone' is stuck behind that boulder." Yennefer raised an eyebrow.
"That's what this bloody racket is about," exclaimed Zoltan. "Clearly must have meant a lot to the bugger." Geralt nodded in agreement. Something new for the bestiary, he thought as they watched the peculiar show.
"This is pathetic," said Yennefer as Bert switched tactics, this time smashing the rock with his face, rather than the top of his head.
The Sorceress glided over to the boulder. Geralt saw her brow furrow in concentration as she raised her arms before her. With a few precise and nimble movements, her fingers throbbed with magic. She directed the energy towards the obstacle and a faint blue outline appeared around the boulder. It began to move, pebbles and dust falling around it as it was gradually freed.
Yennefer hadn't even had the chance to place the boulder down before Bert haphazardly barged past her and into the passageway. He was consumed by the darkness, though his footsteps still sent shocks through the floor. Now that the coast was clear, the others joined them.
"Never knew you to have a soft spot for Trolls, Yennefer," said Dandelion, eyes rooted to the floor as he traversed the descent, "it's touching."
Yennefer waved a hand in the air, as though wafting away the comment. "Oh please, Dandelion, I merely wish to rest; an outcome which seemed improbable had that escapade been allowed to continue," she replied, running a hand through her hair to dislodge some of the dust clinging to it. It was a pointless gesture, but one Geralt knew she did out of habit more than anything, and he found it endearing.
"Are you sure you're not starting to go soft in retirement, Yennefer?" ventured Dandelion. Geralt saw Priscilla throw a nasty look in the Bard's direction when he failed to help her down.
"Is it the retirement though, or is it simply old age and isolation from politics at the world's end?" Said Zoltan.
"It's…" aware that Yennefer was watching him out of the corner of her eye, he considered this for a moment. "It's…something more."
Consciously, Geralt filled his mind with certain thoughts. Memories of the long hours they spent in the vineyards, of the nights when they fell asleep under the stars and of the days they spent renovating their home. He conjured up these pleasing images in his mind's eye and projected them as best he could. Yennefer turned to him and smiled, and even though she was in full view of the others, he could see in her eyes that she held nothing back.
Her star twinkled as she looked at him and with a smile still painted on her lips, she spoke an incantation. The sphere of light which hovered over them started to grow and when it had almost doubled in size the shimmering ball divided. Several smaller pieces of light now whizzed around Yennefer's shoulders and at the snap of her fingers they flew in different directions across the cavern. The light appeared to merge with the stone, crystallising into rocky gemstones which illuminated the room with warm blue-white light.
Priscilla gasped and stared at them with wide eyes. "How beautiful they are. Thank you, Yennefer."
"Marvellous," said Zoltan, nodding at the Sorceress in gratitude. He wandered over to a boulder and pulled himself on top, feet dangling over the side. "See Dandelion, it shan't be too bad after all. There might be no soft beds, but at least we have a roof and warmth."
Dandelion seemed reluctant to agree. "What about the Troll?"
"I'm sure he won't bother us, Dandelion, not now that he has his 'shiny stone'," said Geralt, "and if he does, Yennefer can negotiate with him."
"I've certainly had plenty of practice dealing with idiots," she cast a sideways glance at Dandelion but the Bard was too busy trying to clear a spot on the floor to notice. "Though, they usually refer to themselves as Kings."
Zoltan chuckled. "A truer word was never spoken, but come, let us talk of another matter of politics." He looked between Yennefer and Geralt. "What can we expect from this meeting with the Lodge? I'm glad to say I'm not particularly well versed in politics or in mage affairs, but I'd wager that they wouldn't take any misdemeanours well." An understatement, thought Geralt bitterly, but Zoltan's query got him thinking, and he didn't like where it was leading. The Witcher hesitated.
Altruism wasn't the origin of this gathering, and that was perhaps the only thing he was certain of. The Lodge hadn't been formed on the basis of doing something for the greater good, but on the shared understanding that magic needed to be protected - something which, noticeably, its members personally benefited from. He wasn't sure exactly how this central aim was interlinked with the Wild Hunt, but he didn't care to know. What Geralt was concerned about was whether or not he, Yennefer and Ciri would later regret attending.
"Commands and expectations of obedience, that's what lies in wait," Yennefer answered for him, interrupting Geralt's thoughts. "Do what they want, and you'll have nothing to fear."
Zoltan grumbled. "So, we're to be lapdogs for them."
"Precisely," she said, her high heels tapping loudly against the stone as she turned her back on the group. Geralt watched the sway of her hips as she walked back the way they had come. She placed both hands on the small ledge where the path back up began.
"And what of you, Yennefer?" asked Dandelion casually, but something in his tone was off. Geralt didn't like it. "Do you have anything to fear?"
"No, Dandelion, I do not," she replied, half turning to him, one hand still on the stone. "Though quite why any of that is your concern alludes me."
Yennefer and Dandelion were staring at each other across the room. Zoltan and Priscilla were fidgeting uncomfortably, casting weary looks at the Witcher. The latter gently tugged Dandelion's sleeve, but he paid her no attention.
"Because, Yennefer," he drawled, "I would appreciate knowing whether or not you intend to drag my friend here," he waved a hand in Geralt's direction, but didn't take his eyes off her, "into more trouble."
Yennefer's eyes narrowed and the air became dense and heavy. "Why would I, Dandelion, when you fulfil that role so dutifully?" she said coldly.
While most men would have the common sense to take one look at the Sorceress' demeanour and desist, Dandelion was not gifted with such reasoning. He never knew when to keep his mouth shut. On such occasions, Geralt regretted that Dandelion had regained his voice. "At least I don't do it on purpose,."
Geralt saw Yennefer's hand flinch slightly, tracing a line in the dirt only noticeable to him. She then whirled around to face him fully, hair wreathing around her. The Witcher clenched and unclenched his fist. "What exactly is that supposed to mean, Bard!" she hissed, hands gripping her hips. Several of the lights pulsated violently and Geralt had to shield his eyes.
"Dandelion," warned the Witcher through gritted teeth, but his friend waved him off. Whenever it came to matters concerning Yennefer, his friend had never much cared for his opinion.
"This wouldn't be the first time that the Lodge has tried to use Geralt like a tool," Dandelion replied calmly, his head too high in the air to see the thin ice he was walking across. "Nor would it be the first time you have either." Geralt was sure he felt his medallion vibrate against his chest. His eyes flicked towards Yennefer.
The Sorceress hadn't moved a muscle, but she was shaking infinitesimally. "Don't you dare talk about matters you know nothing about, Dandelion," she seethed, fiddling with her star. The sight gave Geralt a virtually irrepressible desire to punch his so-called friend.
The Bard threw his arms up in response. "I think I know-" Several of the crystals shattered, a wave of purple sparks bursting from their prisons. While the others instinctively tried to protect themselves with their arms, Yennefer didn't flinch. Not even when some of the magic brushed her bare neck.
"Do not confuse your misguided assumptions and self-justifications with fact, you fool," she screamed, her hand now completely clasping the star. Geralt put a hand on the wall to steady himself as the stones vibrated. "You know nothing, Dandelion, and I am not in the habit of explaining myself to people who deserve no explanation."
Geralt could feel the vibrations coming up through the floor now, and small pieces of stone and dust were falling from the walls and ceiling. "Yen!" he called, but she was still glowering at Dandelion. He took a few seconds to focus and dilate his pupils, then he walked over. "Yen," he said firmly, "Yen." He placed a hand on her arm and felt his skin tingle.
She jerked her head, and their eyes connected. The lights dimmed, and the vibrations stopped. Yennefer pulled away from him and turned her back. There was a flash and she vanished, reappearing above his head and briskly walking into the passageway.
Even with the Sorceress gone, the crystals burned with magic, but theirs wasn't the only unnatural force beneath the hill. The stones shuddered with anticipation. He waited patiently for the right moment. He had time.
Kudrat Dutta Chaudhary - Laiza: Sometimes the end is only a Beginning: Chapter 2, Rumbling
"But whenever tragedy strikes, one is left either to die or with a plethora of ifs and buts to ponder over."
I felt so overwhelmed by the positive feedback that I just had to post the first proper chapter, and as luck would have it my parents forced me to have a day of revision (though I'm sure that's not supposed to happen, isn't it supposed to be the other way around?) so here it is. Really hoped you enjoyed it! (Also, I just realised Bert appears to be a weird combination of Dobby the House Elf from Harry Potter and Gollum from Lord of the Rings, oops.)
As always constructive criticism welcome.